


Stolen Fire

by Ias



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Childhood, F/M, Magic, Oaths & Vows, Pre-Canon, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since they were young, magic has been a force that has entwined Sif and Loki together—when it's not wedging them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likebrightness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/gifts).



> The sections of this fic not set in Loki and Sif's adolescence take place after the events of the Avengers but before the plotline of Thor 2. It's based almost entirely off of movie canon except for a few tidbits, like I decided to keep Heimdall as Sif's brother. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Just a heads up, while this itself is a completed fic, there's a lot more to this story that I really wanted to explore but just didn't have time before the posting date. As such, I'm actually planning on adding a chapter before the reveal (is that allowed? well, in the words of everyone's favorite mischief-maker, I do what I want) which will expand on a lot of the larger plot points. A sequel, if you will. So if you like this story, feel free to check back for the next installment!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. I'll let you get to it.

Sif sat up in bed. White moonlight pooled at the foot of her bed and turned her golden hair bone-white. The window was open, and a soft warm breeze toyed with the curtains beside it. They were one of the only things she’d brought from home when she went to go train to become a warrior of Asgard, and without them her apartment would look not unlike a prison cell. Still, it was home. And one she was happy to have.

Looking around the blue-dark corners of her room, she couldn’t be sure what had woken her. She’d been in the middle of a strange dream that had disappeared as soon as she opened her eyes, leaving her to feel like she was stranded on an unfamiliar island that she didn’t remember arriving on.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she caught something out of the corner of her eye—a flicker of movement in the shadows, like a ripple of smoke. Slowly, her hand edged towards the dagger she kept tucked between the head of her mattress and the wall. Her heart throbbed, her muscles tensed. The cold steel found her palm just as a shadow appeared out of thin air beside her.

“Hello, Sif.”

With a screech, Sif hurled the knife straight at it, the swish of the blade flying through the air followed by a soft “oof” and a clatter as it fell to the floor.

“Was that a _knife?_ ” The voice demanded a moment later. “Gods above, Sif. It’s just me.”

Reaching for her bedside table, Sif pulled up a small glass lantern and gave it a shake. The light which faintly glowed from its center revealed none other than Loki, rubbing a spot in the center of his chest with a wounded expression—but that seemed to be the only wound on his person.

“Hit me with the handle, luckily,” Loki said, reaching down to pluck it off the floor and offer it back to her. “Don’t they teach you knife-throwing in those lessons of yours?”

“They do. I never said I learned them well.” She snatched the knife back and slid it into its hiding place. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”

“Questions, questions,” Loki groaned, flopping down on the end of her bed dramatically. “Can’t I simply visit a friend?”

“Generally not at this late hour of the night,” Sif retorted. “Do you even have a good reason to have disturbed my sleep?”

The bright curve of Loki’s grin shone out through the darkness. “I certainly do. I came to show you something.”

Sif crossed her arms over her chest. “This had better not be one of your usual pranks, Loki. You’ll find my patience is much shorter on such little sleep.”

“Oh, but you’re so well-known for your even temper,” Loki said. “Fear not. I’m not here for games.”

Sif sighed. “And what is it that was so important you had to wake me up in the middle of the night to experience?”

“Telling would ruin the surprise,” Loki said.

“While you’re at it, I’d also like to know why it’s always me you have to come to with these things.”

“Because you don’t like me. And I like that.”

He pulled his legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged, resting his palms on his knees and taking a deep breath. Sif watched him dubiously. She had good reason to be suspicious. It was impossible to tell when Loki was about to play an enormous jest at your expense. Sneaking into her room in the middle of the night certainly wasn’t a promising start.

But Loki didn’t seem to be plotting anything. He almost looked peaceful, and in fact, his eyes slid closed after a moment. He seemed to be focusing intently on not thinking about anything at all. Slowly, he raised his hand into the dim light of Sif’s lantern. A second later, that hand disappeared.

Sif stared. Loki’s wrist was lit in a soft orange glow, the slim pale bone raising from the flesh to create a blue shadow underneath, all in perfect detail—and then it just stopped. Mesmerized, Sif reached out a hand. There was a feeling like her fingers brushing the surface of warm water, and Loki’s hand reappeared.

“Ah, damn,” Loki said. “I haven’t quite got the hang of upholding it under touch.”

“What is it?” Sif asked, struggling to keep the wonder out of her voice. 

Loki’s smile broadened under the light. “Magic.”

Sif stared at him. “Magic? Like dark magic?”

“No, just magic-magic,” Loki said, an edge of irritation in his voice. “An Illusion, to be specific. All magic doesn’t have to be dark. It just depends on how you use it.”

“But Loki, I've heard of this type of sorcery,” Sif said urgently. “ It’s dangerous.”

“You know what else is dangerous? Throwing knives at people,” Loki shot back. “Honestly Sif, roll over the wrong way one night and you’ll poke your own eye out.” Sif shot him a look—stop changing the subject. With a defeated sigh, Loki held up his hands. “Yes, I admit. Magic is dangerous. But it’s also amazing—the things I could do if I mastered it, Sif! I’d have no need for daggers or swords. All it takes is a little—” Loki twisted his wrist “—and my enemies are gone. Don’t tell me you don’t find that at all appealing.”

“I think I’ll stick with daggers and swords, thank you,” Sif said with a weak smile.

Loki shrugged. "Suit yourself. But perhaps I'll convince you to chance your mind soe day."

"Perhaps not. I prefer to stick to that which I understand."

"Well where's the fun in that? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot who I was talking to." 

Sif rolled her eyes. "What are the chances of you departing my chambers so I might recoup a few final hours of sleep?"

Loki's face fell melodramatically. "I thought we would braid our hair and gossip about the love-lives of our peers.'

Sif threw a pillow at him. Laughing lightly as he stumbled off her bed, Loki sauntered over to the window and gave a final little bow. "Until next we meet, My Lady," he said sardonically. 

"May the hour be slightly less dark in the future," Sif shot back. 

In the glow of the moonlight, she could see Loki grin. "I wouldn't dream of it." He brushed the curtains aside and vaulted up onto the sill, turning to lowering himself down with a final tip of his head before he disappeared. When Sif rose to her feet to peer out the window after him, she saw nothing but darkness below.

 

 

Exactly 36 stairs led down to a narrow landing before the hallway made a sudden turn, plunging into the darkness and sickly yellow field-glow of the dungeons below. Sif knew that number by heart for all the time she had spent lingering at the top of them, her eyes travelling from one to another in place of her feet, willing herself to take the first step. It took a lifetime before her foot finally fell.

The warmth leeched out of the air quickly as she descended the long flight of stairs. She resisted the urge to pull her fur mantle and cloak closer to her body—she refused to show any weakness here. With every step further she took her heart seemed to twist a little further. She had promised herself she wouldn’t feel anything. To be honest, she’d never intended on keeping it.

The final stretch of stairs descended into a pool of amber light. She’d been in these dungeons many times before, hauling away prisoners from her various exploits. Walking these halls used to give her a sense of triumph, even pride—but no longer. There was a weight in her heart that had threatened to drag her down here for many weeks, and giving in had only made her feel it all the stronger.

Faces stared out at her from behind their honeycomb walls, sneering and baring their teeth as if she would pay them any mind. She walked on. There was one prisoner in particular she sought. It did not take her long to find him.

Loki looked good. Considering his recent history, Sif had expected him to be a shivering wreck. Really, she should have known better. He stood with his back to her, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders thrown back—clearly he knew she was coming. It was just like him to put up a front, to give himself the edge in the conversation before it had even begun. That was fine with her. She knew how to play along.

She stepped up to the other side of the magical pane. “You always did love to throw up barriers between us. I must say, you’ve taken it to a whole new level.”

Loki turned around, a snide smile plastered on his lips. “Humor, Sif? Is this really the time?”

With a small smile of her own, she gripped her wrist behind her back and began to wander to and fro beside the field. “Well, I thought you could appreciate a bit of levity in your situation. It would seem you’re going to be in short supply from now on.”

Shaking his head, Loki looked away. “I would have thought gloating to be beneath you.”

“There are many things I would have thought were beneath you, but you have proved me wrong at every turn.” The cold edge came out in her voice.

“There’s that bitterness I’ve so come to enjoy in you.” Loki sized her up, a smile playing with the edge of his lips. “But I doubt you would have come here just to deliver a lecture. What do you really want?”

Sif smiled coolly. “Always so perceptive.”

“Yes, I’m rather known for it.” Loki sprawled down into the chair which had been convenient set out for him and looked away disinterestedly. “Now go on, I may have the rest of eternity to suffer you but I’d prefer to keep it quick.”

She hated to give him the satisfaction of seeing her glare. “It’s well known by those close to you that you have ways of traversing between realms.”

“Then I’d be interested to hear why you’re telling me things I already know,” Loki replied.

“I need to know how to travel that way,” Sif said, fighting to bring her voice down to a level tone. “I’m asking you to teach me.”

Loki smirked. It didn’t involve a tremendous change in his facial structure. “And what possible reason would I have to help you? You have nothing useful to me.”

“Perhaps not. But I think you’ll find that irrelevant.”

Loki lolled backwards in his chair, propping his cheek up with the back of his knuckles. “Oh? I’m dying to know why.”

Sif leaned against the corner of the non-shielded wall. “Because I’m calling in a favor.”

The smile disappeared from Loki’s face. “Well now. I can’t say I expected that.”

“Isn’t it nice that we can still surprise each other.”

“You'd reopen that wound after all this time? On something so trivial?”

“The realms are in chaos, Loki,” Sif said. “When the Bifrost was destroyed—as a result of your actions, I might add—raiding and pillaging have become the daily norm when our armies can no longer reach out for help. I cannot stand by idly as the people suffer. I will help, even if no one else can.”

“And it will be you alone,” Loki said. “Travelling the realms is a tricky business, and taking along a passenger would be well beyond the skill of a beginner. Unless you were planning on bringing me, of course.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Sif snapped. “I’m perfectly happy to let you rot here. Just tell me what I need to know.”

With a shrewd look, Loki leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head. “It hardly matters. You wouldn’t take the power even if you were strong enough.”

“I am strong. Tell me how.”

A grin split his face. “Magic.” When Sif said nothing, he climbed to his feet and prowled to the edge of the glass. “What? Did you expect something different? Some easy fix? It was you who always said that magic was my one and only use.”

“There must be another way,” Sif gritted out. “Tell me.”

Loki shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you, Sif. But without magic, you aren’t going anywhere.”

Sif turned on her heel and strode towards the exit, the jeers of Loki’s fellow prisoners ringing in her ears. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head but she refused to turn around.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” Loki called out after her.

She gave him no response but the echo of her fading footsteps.

 

 

While it was nice to receive a message from Loki in the daylight hours for a change, Sif still got the feeling he was toying with her. He’d sent her a note with a time and a meeting place, with no further clarification or explanation as to why she should take time out of her day on his account. But the location was nearby and the time was convenient, and Sif’s curiosity was too strong for her to spend the hour practicing footwork in her chambers.

She arrived at their meeting place in one of Asgard’s many gardens, the gently rustling leaves forming a barrier between her and the rest of the world. Sunlight filtered through the trees to play over her face and golden hair, and for a moment she let herself enjoy it. Here it was easy to forget you weren’t strolling through a pleasant grove in Alfheim, miles from civilization. The sound-shielding barriers which arched above the canopy may have had something to do with that.

“You came.” Loki stepped into sight from behind a peach tree. “I’m actually surprised.”

Sif fixed him with a tired stare. “If your sole purpose of calling me here was to see if I would actually appear, then I can reasonably say you can expect a very different response in the future.”

“Oh, Sif. I would never invite you anywhere without some sort of fun involved.” A peach appeared in his hand, which he tossed in the air before bringing to his nose to breath in its smell. His eyes never left her.

“What am I doing here, Loki?” Sif asked.

Loki grinned the kind of grin that managed to be both comforting and alarming at the same time—like maybe something was about to go horribly wrong, but in the end it would be more fun that way. The smell of ripe fruit rose up thick in her nose. She fought through the haze. Better to keep a clear head around him.

“Always making so many demands,” Loki drawled. “Don’t you want life to surprise you once in a while?”

“I hate surprises,” Sif said sullenly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now go on, I have a training drill I need to get to.”

“The drill isn’t for another three hours,” Loki shot back. “You have time.”

“The fact that you seem to have memorized my schedule is rather concerning to me.”

“It’s not like drills are a secret. I simply did my research.”

Sif snorted. “It hardly seems fair that you should know everything about me and I should know so little about you.”

Loki batted his eyes at her playfully. “Oh, so now you’re interested in my character, are you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Or what? You’ll throw another knife at me?”

Her eyes raked the grass with ill intent. “No, but it seems there are a few rotten peaches lying around that would make likely candidates.”

“Point taken. Well, if you’ll give me just a few minutes of your time, I will happily bring a little more mystery to your life.”

Sif rolled her eyes. “That’s not exactly what I want to hear, Loki.”

“You don’t keep me around because I tell you what you want to hear,” Loki replied, plopping down on the grass and patting the ground in front of him. Sif glanced around—there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Just peaches and the warm, heavy air. To be honest, on a hot day like this she would much rather be lounging in orchards than swinging around heavy pieces of metal. With a sigh, she settled in front of Loki. His smile might even have been sincere.

“Alright,” he began, “I want you to hold your hands out to me and close your eyes.”

“Not likely.”

Loki tilted his head. “Don’t you trust me, Sif?”

A sweetly ironic smile crossed her face. “Do you really need to ask that question?”

“Well, you’re not going to learn to change that if you don’t give me a chance, are you?” His eyebrow quirked in what he clearly hoped was an inviting way. “Come on. Be spontaneous.”

Sif stared at his open hands skeptically. Curiosity itched at her palms. “I would ask you for your word that this isn’t one of your tricks, but I know how useless your promises are,” she said, laying her fingers over his wrists. It was interesting to experience firsthand what she was sure would later become a regrettable memory. Loki just showed his teeth.

“It won’t work unless you close your eyes. If it makes you feel better, I have to as well.” As if to demonstrate, he tilted his head back into the sun and let his lids fall shut. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

It was true that his face seemed calm, without a twitch of a smile that might turn into cruel laughter at her expense. His long, slim flingers gently supported her wrists atop his knees, and in the heat of the day it was hard to believe anything could go wrong. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. “Alright. I had better not regret this.”

Loki made no reply. Sif fell silent herself, focusing on the heat of sunlight on her skin, the pressure of Loki’s hands on her own. It was hard not to get too comfortable—she could almost fall asleep. But she slowly became aware of something moving over her skin, up her arms and over her shoulders before passing through her hair like someone raking their hands through it. She froze, as the feeling seemed to settle into her skin with a light prickling on her nerves. She couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes.

“Tada,” Loki said, watching her with an ironic smile. “How do you feel?”

“No different,” Sif said, a knot of uneasiness tying itself into her gut. “What did you do?”

“Allow me.” Loki reached into a pouch on his belt to pull out a small compact mirror. When Sif raised it to her face, her breath caught in her throat.

Her hair had changed. Where once it had fallen past her face in golden waves, it had turned as dark as a void. As dark as Loki’s own hair, she noted. Each glossy black tress was as slick as oil, and when she turned her head the light shifted over it like it was a living thing.

“Gods, Loki,” she whispered. “What did you do?”

“A changing spell,” he said proudly. “I’ve been practicing on hair—the individual strands are the most difficult. But I’ve mastered it.”

Sif reached up to touch a black curl near her cheek. There was no feeling of magic like there had been with Loki’s hand. Her hair felt the same as it always had, except for the change in color. She noted how it made her skin look clear and bright, and her eyes like two pale beacons. Truly, it was very striking. A hesitant smile touched her lips.

“Is it Ragnarök yet, or are you actually smiling?” Loki said playfully.

Sif quickly replaced her expression with a frown. It did not do to look impressed at anyhting Loki did; he would quickly become insufferable. “What is the purpose of this spell? I’m not sure what use changing someone’s hair color would be in a fight.”

“Not everything has to result in physical violence, you know.”

“Only things worth knowing.”

“If I didn’t know you were joking, I would be very concerned indeed.”

Sif flashed him a broader smile this time. “How lucky that I am. Now, change my hair back. There’s more violence to be done in the sparring field that I don’t plan on missing.”

“Very well. Close your eyes, oh bloodthirsty one.”

Sif did as she was told this time, waiting as the same feeling crept up into her scalp and then scattered like drops of water. The silence drew out before she heard Loki clearing his throat anxiously.

“What’s wrong?” Sif asked. “Can I open my eyes?”

“Er, ah, if you would give me just one moment,” Loki said hurriedly.

The feeling washed over her again, faster this time, like someone was tugging on her hair. She grimaced, fighting down the tense beats of her heart. “Loki?”

“Um.”

“Loki,” she repeated, the nervous edge gone from her voice. “What did you do?” She opened her eyes. The mirror was still lying between them. Loki’s hand lashed out, lightning fast, but Sif was faster. She snatched it up and held it out as Loki seemed to shrink into himself. Her hair was still black. If anything, it was even darker.

“I may have made a small error,” Loki said.

“ _A small error?_ ”

"A small, permenant error." Loki spread his hands helplessly. “But you do favor this color, yes? So no harm done?”

Sif stared at him, shock and disbelief churning in her stomach. After a long moment a soulless, stiff-lipped grin stole over her face, as leaned over to slowly pick up a fat, rotting peach so far gone it was nearly falling apart in her hand. “No, no harm done. In fact, I'm feeling generous: I’ll give you a five second head start.”

Loki ran. But not fast enough.

 

 

Her horse’s hooves pounded on the translucent surface of the walkway as she rode out over the sea. Below her the waves churned in turbulent jets of spray which prickled on her face and arms. Ahead, the sky opened up where once the great bronze dome of the Bifrost had stood, the way between worlds she had crossed many times. Unbidden, the memory of being thrown across galaxies like the point of a spear sprung back into her mind, nebulas passing through her bones like drafts of air, entire constellations wheeling by before her feet met solid ground. She’d loved the feeling. It was now a painful memory.

She reigned her horse in a ways before the edge, the cold air of the rim a chill on her damp skin. At the edge of the walkway, where the threads of rainbow light ended in jagged spikes, a figure stood with his broad golden back to the rest of Asgard. Sif paused a few feet behind. She knew he had seen her coming.

“Lady Sif.” His voice came at last, as deep and melodious as Sif remembered with a note of tiredness she did not. Thus addressed, she stepped forward to stand by the Gatekeeper’s side. All of the cosmos splayed out in front of them, and behind that, the void. She knew Heimdall could see it, even if she could not.

“How do you fare, brother?” she asked after a moment.

“There was a time when I could look out over the stars and see peace on every world,” Heimdall replied. “Of late it is becoming harder and harder to come by.”

Sif stared down at the rushing water flinging itself over the edge of the world. She had never fully considered its long, endless plunge. The world seemed bigger when all doors were closed to her.

“They will find a way to repair the Bifrost,” Sif said firmly. Conviction was an easy emotion to manufacture when she wanted so badly to believe it herself.

“Perhaps they will, in time. And in that time, the realms will suffer.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sif watched Heimdall carefully. “How bad is it?”

His golden eyes roamed over things Sif couldn’t see. “Bad. In the absence of Asgard’s armies, our enemies have grown bold. They too know that we work to repair our bridge. They will do as much damage as they can before we can muster to stop them.”

Sif cast her eyes back into the stars, her heart aching as if there was a string in her chest being pulled where she couldn’t follow. She used to be good for something, used to have a purpose. Fighting was all she knew how to do. On Asgard there was nothing to do but wait, stewing in boredom and anxiety until she felt like she would burst like rotting fruit. She was not made to be bound to one place.

“You are upset,” Heimdall observed.

“I am angry.”

“You need not simplify your emotions around me.” The understanding in Heimdall’s eyes was nearly unbearable. Sif turned away.

“It is painful not being able to help people.”

“Only if you allow yourself to feel responsible for their own well-being.”

“Are the strong not responsible for the weak?” Sif said sharply.

Heimdall turned his eyes to her. “And what makes you believe that you are strong?” His voice lacked the accusing tone that would have made that question a challenge. Where Sif wished she could feel a rush of anger, she only felt hollowness and the creeping fingers of cold working their way into her clothes.

“I remember when you first began your training to be a warrior,” Heimdall said. There was a fondness in his voice that she didn’t often hear. “You were so determined to be strong, skillful, powerful. I think perhaps you forgot how to let yourself be weak.”

“It’s more important to be strong now than ever,” Sif protested. “We have suffered a great defeat—”

“No, we have suffered a loss.” She knew that Heimdall could not read her thoughts, but when he looked at her like that even she had her doubts. “I can see that you are in pain, Sif, whether you recognize it or not. Understand that some things simply must be felt.”

A cold smile touched Sif’s lips. “I prefer to take action.”

“And what action would that be?” The knowing edge in Heimdall’s voice made her uneasy.

“Whatever I deem necessary.” The wind tugged at the hem of her cloak as she turned back to her waiting steed, leaving her brother to his watch and ruminations. Heimdall may be content to stand waiting for the piece of him which had been torn away to be restored, but Sif was tired of waiting.

“Take care, sister,” Heimdall’s voice rose behind her as she spurred her mount back towards the great city. It was less of a farewell and more of a warning.

When she arrived in the dungeons once more, Loki was waiting for her. The smile that split his face slowly grew into a grin, like a tear in fabric being torn apart. Sif stopped in front of him and met his eyes without flinching.

“Very well. Teach me your magic.”

 

 

Sif was practicing in the training yard when it happened.

She had stayed after her drills, fighting with the practice dummy when everyone else had gone home. Her sword struck the wood again and again until her muscles threatened to cramp, but she pushed on. Recently Thor had been presented with a handsome new weapon, a hammer imbued with magical properties which allowed him to fly and always returned to his hand. Against such an advantage, Sif knew she had to train all the harder to keep up.

The sun was balanced on the lower spires of the citadel like an orange impaled on a spike when she first felt the beginnings of a headache spring up in the back of her head. It quickly went from a vague annoyance to a full-blown knot of agony pulsing behind her eyes. A feeling of unbearable nausea rose up from the pit of her stomach. Her training sword fell from her hands with a clatter as she clutched at the target for support. It was a race to see whether her knees or her stomach would give out first. Her vision went dark.

And then, searing into her head as clear as letters of fire written on the night sky: _Help me. Please._

When her eyes cleared, the image of a tower looming over her had been burned into her memory. Reaching up, her fingers dabbed at the blood on her lips which left a coppery taste on her tongue. She knew that tower well, though she’d been there rarely enough. It was where Loki and Thor had their chambers.

Abandoning her training blade on the ground, Sif broke into a run in the direction of Loki’s tower. The pain from the episode, or vision, or whatever had just occurred was still fresh on her mind, like someone had taken her legs and twisted them around herself. There was no time to question what was happening. Loki was hurt. Little else mattered.

 She arrived at the base of the tower a few minutes later, sweat beading on her brow and her muscles taut with exhaustion. Her eyes scanned the courtyard for sign of him and found nothing. There was nothing but grey shadows and smooth stones that the lights had not yet come on to illuminate. A seed of doubt germinated in her mind. For one of his tricks, this would certainly be an elaborate one.

A groan split the air before she could take another step, coming from somewhere above her. When Sif craned back her neck she saw something caught in the branches of the tree, a dark shadow against the quickly fading sky.

“Loki?” she called out. There was no response. Had she imagined the sound? Her nails dug into her palms as she paced the ground below, searching for some way to get closer. The only way up which presented itself was up the smooth trunk of the tree.

“Loki,” she hissed. Whether or not there was a stirring of movement above her, she could not tell. What became clear was that she was going to have to find out.

There were no low-hanging branches for her to rest her weight on—she had no cloth or rope to scale it with. Gritting her teeth, she took a step back and ran forward, leaping at the last minute to grab a hold of the trunk with her arms and knees as high up as she could reach. Immediately she felt herself begin to slide, but she tightened her grip mercilessly and managed to come to a stop. The next branch rose up enticingly just a couple feet above her. Squeezing her knees and pulling herself with her hands, she managed to shuffle up the trunk until her hands could find a hold.

By the time she pulled herself into the branches she felt as if her muscles had been beaten against a rock for the entirety of the evening. She slumped against the tree trunk, struggling to catch her breath, and wondered whether Loki was hiding in the shadows below with an enormous smirk on his face. If he was lucky, he’d live to regret it.

A small rustling noise emanated from somewhere up above her. This time, the moan she heard was no illusion.

“Sif?” a tiny voice that she hardly even recognized called out. “Is that you?”

“Loki!” she cried, scrambling to her feet balanced on the smooth lower boughs. “Are you alright?”

There was a long pause. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little firmer.

“You called for me,” Sif said, a healthy portion of annoyance mingling with her concern.

“No I didn’t,” Loki said. He would have sounded peevish if it weren’t for the way the words sounded unusually thick in his mouth.

Sif threw up her hands. “Fine, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait.” The word was sharp. Not commanding. Desperate. “If you could just…help me.”

She had never known Loki as the sort of person to ask for anything. That, if nothing else, worried her the most. Sif picked her way through the densely-packed branches, worming between them when she could and picking her way around when they grew too thickly. As she climbed, she became aware of a quiet rasp of breath from somewhere nearby. There was a catch in it that hinted at pain. She climbed faster.

When she finally managed to reach him she found Loki tangled in the middle branches of the tree, little more than a dark form that she only recognized when she squeezed the warm flesh of his arm. Above them the branches were bent and broken, revealing a gap through which she could see the purple-tinged sky.

“What happened?” she said, her hands flitting around him like flies, refusing to press or touch too hard. “Where are you hurt?”

 “My legs,” Loki said, struggling to pull himself up. He fell back with muffled grunt of pain, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. “The magic rebounded.”

Squinting against the gathering darkness, Sif’s hands found his knees and skimmed over his shins. The fabric there had been torn by something, as if he had stuck his feet into a meat grinder. Her hand came away wet, sticky, and dark. She didn’t need light to know it would be red.

“I’m going to get you help,” Sif said.

“No!” Loki’s hand struck out to grasp her wrist with vice-like intensity. “You can’t. No one can see me like this.” He took a steadying breath. “I need to get to my mother. She’s the only one who can help.”

Sif looked at him doubtfully. “Are you sure you can last that long?”

“I’ll be fine,” Loki gritted out in a way that somehow made Sif believe it. “Just get me to her.”

“We can begin by getting you out of this tree,” Sif said. “Can you move?”

After a moment, she saw the shadows shift as Loki nodded. “Not well. But yes.”

“Good, I can help you. Come now.” Winding her arm behind Loki’s shoulder, she levered him into a sitting position. He made no sound, but she felt the spasm of pain pass through him. For a moment afterwards he simply slumped against her, breathing hard, before he pushed himself up and away.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sif promised. “Just hold on to me.”

“I’m fine,” Loki snapped. His grip on Sif’s arm didn’t loosen.

Progress was agonizingly slow. For every inch they descended Loki would need to stop and rest, panting and fighting back whimpers. Sif could feel them bubbling up from his chest before he clamped down on them in his throat, but he couldn’t stop the shaking of his limbs as they fought their way to the ground. Sif tried to distract him the one way she knew best.

“Only you could be so stupid as to get yourself in this situation,” she said as they waited for him to recover. “Torn up and stuck in a tree. Honesty, it’s just excessive.”

“And only you would be stupid enough to come climbing in after me,” he shot back as soon as he had caught his breath. “What did you mean, that I called you?”

“I can’t explain it, exactly.” Sif leaned her head back against the cool bark of the tree and tried to summon up the feelings and images of the strange vision she’d had. “I blacked out for a moment, and I heard your voice. When I woke up I just knew where you were, and that you were hurt.” She looked at him strangely, or at the mass of shadows where she knew his face was. Only his eyes were a pair of pinpoints in the darkness. “You didn’t do that?”

“I suppose I must have,” Loki said. “Magic is unpredictable, and hard to control. Some part of me must have reached out for you, whether I intended it or not.” Sif had nothing to say to that.

By the time they reached the lower branches, true darkness had fallen. The lanterns around the courtyard slowly hummed to life, shedding a soft yellow glow on the marble floor seven feet below them. In the light, Sif could see much better the extent of Loki’s wounds. His face, already so pale, looked like someone had sucked the life straight out of him. One of his feet was twisted at an odd angle, and the fabric of his pants from the knees down was dripping red.

“I didn’t know magic could do that to a person,” Sif said quietly.

Loki’s smile was grim. “The spell I cast collapsed, and ripped itself to pieces. My legs just got in the way.”

Sif leaned down, her fingers clutching the tree trunk tightly as she wished whoever built this courtyard had used cotton pillows instead of hard stone. “I think the best way for us to reach the ground is for me to jump first, then you to follow. I can try to help break your fall.

Loki nodded tensely. He seemed to be saving his energy, or perhaps he was aware of the pain that probably awaited him at the bottom of that drop. Once she made sure he had a firm grip on the branches, Sif pulled away and lowered herself down until she was hanging by her fingers. When she let go her feet landed hard, but a second later she was scrambling to her feet.

“Alright, I made it,” she called up to him softly. “If you could just lower—”

She saw Loki’s grip on the branch weaken a second before he slid out of the tree. His body hit the ground like a sack of boneless meat, sprawling lifelessly over the tiles.

Her knees slammed into the marble as she hurried to his side. His eyes were closed, but his face was screwed up in a grimace that indicated he was still alive. She grabbed his shoulder.

“Please don’t touch,” he groaned.

“Sorry,” Sif said, her hand flying off him. “Are you alright?”

“That depends.” Loki’s eyes cracked open to regard her painfully. “How do I look?”

Sif fought down a weak smile. “Like you’ve just met the wrong end of a bilgesnipe.”

“Ah. And which end is that, exactly?”

“Take your pick.”

“That bad, is it?” He reached up to touch the back of his head with a wince.

“Let’s get you to your mother,” Sif said, gently taking his hand to hoist him to his feet.

“Just give me a moment,” he said. He didn’t let go of her hand. Sif sat there beside him, listening as the insects in the foliage began chirping now that the intruders in their homes had been expelled. The coppery smell in the air made it impossible to find the scene pleasant.

“Loki,” she said after a moment, “what spell were you trying to cast that ended up tossing you out the window?”

Loki stared straight up, and somehow she knew that he was looking past the lanterns and the leaves and the spires, up into the sky above. “I was trying to fly,” he said softly.

Silence was the best comfort Sif could give to him. She waited by his side, gently squeezing his hand, as the stars turned in the sky above them.

 

 

The globe of light hung suspended above Sif’s splayed fingers, gently turning in the darkness. Ripples of blue travelled over its surface as she watched it carefully. The painful ache which had afflicted her head when she first began practicing her spells had long since died down to a gentle pressure, like her head was a cup of water which had just been filled. With a twist of her wrist, the orb shrunk to the size of her first, then to the size of a marble. As it finally extinguished, the pressure in her head drained away.

“Not bad.” Loki was lying on his back, watching her out of the corner of his eyes with his arms tucked behind his head. “I suppose the twelfth time is the charm.”

Sif glared at him stonily. “I got it eventually.”

“What is truly impressive is the utter lack of natural talent you have shown from the very beginning. Magic is one of the most intuitive arts, yet you somehow manage to botch it anyway.”

“Maybe it’s my teacher,” she shot back. “He’s not very good at giving positive feedback.”

“Positive feedback implies that there was something positive to comment on in the first place,” Loki said. “You can’t treat this power like it’s a sword you’re just swinging around at people. It takes finesse.”

“Clearly you fail to understand the most basic fundamentals of sword-fighting.” Sif slumped down to the ground with a groan. “I don’t have time for summoning pretty lights. There are people dying in the realms at this very moment.”

“Self-righteousness was never a good look on you,” Loki said coolly. “And neither is that illusion you’re wearing. You look more like a rock golem than a person.”

“My face would raise suspicions if I were seen frequenting your dungeon,” Sif snapped.

“So now you’re embarrassed to be seen with me? When did it get so bad between us?” Loki said sweetly.

Sif ignored him. “You told me I would be able to traverse across realms. I won’t waste my time any longer.”

“By ‘wasting time’ with me now, you’re ensuring that the magical stress of punching through the fabric of our reality doesn’t rip your physical body apart,” Loki said drolly. “Realm-jumping is a complex act, requiring exceptional control. Go try it on your own, by all means. It would certainly save me some time.”

Sif ground her teeth. Suffering Loki’s condescension never got any easier. “Fine. Tell me what to do.” 

Loki stared at her thoughtfully. “I still do not fully understand what you hope to accomplish on this venture. Surely you don't hope to tackle the legions of Asgard's armies alone."

Sif was quiet. "I have to try to make a difference. Even if I can only defend a single life, even if that life is my own, it must be enough. I have to try." She shook her head, shooting Loki a bitter look. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

His face was unreadable before he turned away. "There’s little more I can teach you from behind the glass, unless you plan on dedicating months to your magical education. If you want to take the next step, you’ll need something of mine to help you.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sif regarded him with more suspicion than was customary between them. “And what might that be?”

“An item from my personal chambers. I have no doubt that it’s still there. It should be easy enough to find—assuming you can get in.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Sif demanded.

Loki’s smile turned sardonic. “Forgive my lack of faith, but subtlety has never been your strong suit. But I welcome you to surprise me.” Loki held out his palm. In it, an image of a small polished stone appeared, with what looked like veins of crystal coursing through it. A rune was engraved on its surface that Sif did not recognize. “You’ll find this in my usual hiding place. I assume you don’t need reminding where that is.”

“I’ll get it,” Sif said curtly, turning on her heel and walking away. As she turned the corner on the stairs she let the illusion fall from her like a cloak. She lacked the skill to conjure a real face over hers, but blurring its features was not beyond her. It was the detail work that posed the greatest difficulty—like wielding a mace for a dagger’s job, she found herself heavy-handed where Loki demanded delicacy. But delicacy had never been her strong suit.

The walk to the royal chambers was a long one. She passed many sets of guards who undoubtedly recognized her, but there was nothing to be done about it. Once she had been a familiar face in these halls. Those days felt long ago indeed. Still, her feet found the way to Loki’s door as if they were following a well-worn track.

She paused just outside it, studying the wood panels and ironwork designed in the shape of leaves. The handle felt cold in her hand, a feeling which seemed to sink into her chest like silt to the bottom of a river. She shook it off. There was no time for sentiment now. Gritting her teeth, she turned the handle.

“Lady Sif.” Jerking her hand off the door as if it had burned her, Sif whirled around to stare straight into the face of Queen Frigga. Her hands were clasped in front of her dress and her mouth was wearing a smile, but above it her eyes were calculating. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

“I’m sorry Your Grace,” Sif said, curtsying hurriedly as she scrambled to think of a believable lie. But this was the mother of Loki, and who better to see through lies than her. Sif looked down.

“I meant no intrusion,” she said. “There was simply an old item I wished to retrieve from your son’s room. I didn’t want to trouble you with it.”

Frigga’s eyes turned to the doorway. There was no sadness in them that Sif could see. Only regret. “The worst thing I could imagine was to lose one of my children. Loki may still be alive, but part of me suspects he is gone all the same. It’s my curse to go on believing.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Forgive me. I must seem a bitter old woman, to be rambling this way.”

“You are our Queen,” Sif said, as if anything lesser were mutually exclusive.

“It’s a poor Queen that cannot protect her people,” Frigga replied. Her hand settled gently on Sif’s shoulder.  “You were a friend to my son when few others were. For that, I thank you. I don’t you’ll find what you’re looking for—Loki’s rooms were mostly cleared out a while ago—but take as much time as you need. You won’t be disturbed.”

Sif bowed. “Thank you, My Lady. Your kindness is appreciated.”

She slipped into Loki’s room as soon as the other woman left, shutting the door behind herself before sagging against the frame. There was no room in her mind for relief. Frigga’s words buzzed around like insects stirred into motion by a stone. If Loki was truly gone, then Sif’s cause was a lost one. He wouldn’t truly help her. If anything, he was probably manipulating her.

Yet she’d known Loki for much of her long life. And the person in that cell may have been Loki at his absolute, most despicable worst, yet it had been Loki all the same. Even if the only shred of his old self left was the oath he had sworn to her, it was enough. It would have to be.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom of a bedchamber which had seen neither sunlight nor torchlight in many weeks, familiar shapes began to leap out at her. The headboard of his bed, carved with yew leaves for strength. An old coat, folded up on a long-forgotten chair where some pair of hands—Frigga’s?—had tucked it away. Otherwise, the room was mostly empty. It always had been. Unless you knew where to look.

Kneeling down by the chair, she took hold of one of its legs and gave it a quick wrench. It came off cleanly in her hand to reveal a dark hollow inside of it. The first time Loki had shown his hiding place to her had been after he had stolen Freyja’s necklace from right off her neck. He could never seem to resist sharing in his triumphs with her.

Now, when she upturned the hollow leg, something fell out onto the floor with a clatter. Sif reached down to find a smooth, oblong shape with a rough design cut into the top—Loki’s runestone, as promised. But there was something else there. Her fingers grasped a small, disk-shaped object that felt like it was made of wood. Something had been carved in to either side.

As she lifted it to the pale light coming through the slats in the shutters, Sif’s heart dove into her stomach. The coin caught the light, and suddenly it was as if she was looking at it through the years and years which spanned the last time she’d laid eyes on it. As real as if he was standing beside her, she heard the words: _Take it, it’s lucky. Trust me, I made sure of it._ The hair on the back of her neck stood up. It was as if she had been visited by a ghost.

Quickly she covered it with her palm. She couldn’t believe Loki had kept it, not after all that had happened. Had he forgotten where he had hidden it, or had he known she would find it as well? Instead of shoving it back into its hiding place, Sif slipped it into her pocket. She’d have time to start picking away at Loki’s motivations later. Runestone in hand, Sif slipped back out the door and pulled it closed behind her, locking away the memories with it. The cold, painful feeling in her stomach followed her long after she’d left the royal wing behind.

 

 

Late nights spent in the sparring ring were becoming a habit. Even nights when she tried to fall asleep early, Sif found herself lying awake in bed staring at the ceiling, her hands balled into fists that yearned to be clenched around the hilt of a sword. She needed to be in motion. And so she took up the sword.

Tonight was an especially difficult night. Her muscles twitched whenever she paused to catch her breath, and her heart pulsed every time her sword met the wood of the training dummy. The warm glow of lantern light stood vigil over the edge of the yard, but in the center she saw by nothing more than cold, steely moonlight. It made her feel clean.

“I never realized you had such a personal vendetta against wooden figurines.”

When Sif turned she saw Loki standing with his arms crossed over his chest, the familiar smirk absent from his face. He looked much better since their encounter outside his window—there was no hint of a limp in his step, or any sign of the pain that had so nearly burned the light out of his eyes. She brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face and struggled to reign in her breathing.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. Has anyone ever mentioned that you have some serious aggression issues?”

“I’m sure they are only the result of a source of intense stress in my life,” Sif said with a meaningful look. She turned back to the dummy as if she didn’t care Loki was there. “I don’t have time for games tonight.”

“Yes, I can see you’re very motivated.”

Sif returned to her drill, hammering out attacks from every guard she had learned until her footwork stayed solid throughout the entire maneuver. She could still feel Loki’s eyes on her the whole time, but she tried to ignore him. It was no use. His gaze was like a lash in her eye, a fly biting at her arm. She cut her drill off in the middle to turn on him, sticking the point of her sword into the ground and fixing Loki with a glower. “If you’re going to be in the sparring yard, you have to be sparring. That’s the rule.”

Loki shrugged. “Fine. Give me a weapon.”

Sif stared him down. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” Loki sidled over to the weapons rack when Sif made no move to, and selected a pair of longknives. “Afraid to hit something that’s capable of hitting back?”

“Afraid of breaking your neck,” Sif retorted. Still, when Loki prowled into the center of the pit and turned to face her, she didn’t look away. The dull steel of his blades caught the light, and suddenly he was wielding two slices of the moon. Something dangerous played in the shadows of his eyes. It called out to the restlessness in her bones, and drew her into the ring.

A smile toyed with Loki’s lips as Sif took her place across from him, her sword raising to rest on her shoulder in the Sky guard. He shifted his grip on the knives in his hand and quirked an eyebrow.

“Promise to be gentle with me?”

“Never,” Sif said with a grin that he returned. They began circling each other, eyes roving over their separate bodies in search of a sudden jolt of movement. Loki feigned a strike with his dominant hand, which Sif ignored. Their circle grew tighter. The playfulness slid off of Loki’s face like oil over water. Sif could feel something changing between them. Then the knife in his right hand lashed out in earnest, and their dance begun.

Sif was surprised when their bout lasted longer than a few seconds. His technique was sloppy, his footwork nonexistent, yet he attacked with a sort of cold ferocity that left Sif well matched. Their blows rung out in clangs which echoed off the silent walls, like distance voices egging them on. Then Loki’s left knife slipped down to the strong of Sif’s sword, and with a grim smile she moved in for the finishing blow.

Suddenly Loki was five feet away, staggering as if he’d tripped yet completely untouched by the swing which should have sent him flying. Sif stared from him to the spot where he should have been in disbelief. “That’s cheating!”

“You should have specified the rules sooner, my dear,” Loki said, raising his blades for another attack. “You have your weapons of choice, and I have mine.”

His parries came slower now, yet every time Sif came close to tagging him he would reappear somewhere else. Frustration mounted in the set of her jaw, but her arms were getting tired.

Finally, she had him cornered, his blades hanging limp by his side, his chest heaving with each breath. She stepped forward, victory singing in her ears, and made the final thrust—only to have the point pass right through him as if he wasn’t there. Loki looked from the sword lodged in his stomach to the shocked expression on her face and smiled. Then he dissolved in a flash of light.

Sif barely managed to whirl around before the real Loki was on her, hacking and slashing faster than Sif could block. Every blow sent her retreating further until her back hit the raised wall of the training pit. Loki knocked her sword aside, and it fell from her hand like a dead weight. He saw her weaponless and paused, relishing the moment as he raised both his weapons for the final strike. And that was where he went wrong.

Sif lunged forward before he could strike, tackling him backwards and bringing her hands down hard on his shoulders. She heard his weapons fall to the ground with a clatter as they both tumbled down after them. Sif felt, rather than heard, the air go out of Loki’s lungs as his back hit the sand. Her arms sought to wind around his head in a chokehold as he struggled to get his breath back, but his elbow thrown up between them prevented her from getting a hold on him. With a burst of strength Loki wrenched at her shoulders, and suddenly her head was spinning as it hit the sand and she was staring up into Loki’s face framed by the stars behind it.

Her hand splayed out. So did his. A split second later they each had one of Loki’s discarded knives in hand, inches away from each other’s throats. The moment hung suspended. Nothing but breaths passed between them.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Loki panted, “but you, Sif, are dead.”

“Funny,” Sif replied with a huff, “I could have sworn I killed you first.”

“Well then. I suppose the winner of this bout will be decided by stubbornness after all.”

Having Loki on top of her was making it hard to catch her breath. The light from the lanterns lit up half his face with a warm glow that didn’t quite touch the hollows of his cheeks or eyes. The dull edge of his knife still rested against her bared throat, but his other hand had slid behind her shoulder in the tussle. She would have sworn that he was holding her just a little tighter, except that wasn’t Loki, that wasn’t what he did. His specialty was pushing her away, the opposing force to her own, each of them shoving back twice as hard as they fought to be together. His fingers gently curling against the fabric of her tunic must have been her imagination.

“I can feel your heart racing,” Loki observed. His voice sounded strange, lower and tenser. “Perhaps you should yield before it punches a hole in your chest.”

“My heart is fine,” Sif said with a glare. “I’m not yielding.” She found herself looking more intently at Loki’s neck, the soft skin stretched tighter over his throat, the faint red line from the press of her dagger that ran across his windpipe. She could see his own pulse trembling in the hollow beneath his jaw, and the way the knot in his throat bobbed when he swallowed. When she raised her eyes he was watching her, too. After years of meeting his gaze, there was something there she hadn’t seen before. Something fragile.  

“Tell you what,” he murmured. “I’ll put my weapon down if you will, and we’ll call it a draw.”

Sif blinked. “And then what?”

Loki shrugged. “And then we pick ourselves up, shake hands, and return to our respective rooms for an actual night’s sleep.”

“Hmm. I suppose I could live with that.”

“The real question,” Loki said, leaning in a hair’s breadth closer, “is whether or not you can trust me enough to back down—or whether you’re going to try and stab me the second I put my knife down like I have a sneaking suspicion you might.”

“Maybe you’ll find I’m not as deceitful as you,” Sif said. Her grip on the knife tightened all the same.

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” Loki said softly. “Alright. On the count of three, we both lower our weapons and get up.”

Sif nodded. “On three, then.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Thr—”

And then Loki’s mouth was on hers, his lips pressing to hers like he was dying of hunger yet eating shards of glass. She could have pushed him off. She should have, because this wasn’t them, this couldn’t be the thing that had been growing between them all this time, she hated Loki and Loki hated her and everything was so much _better_ that way, so she really shouldn’t be threading her hands through his hair and pulling him closer to her. His hand ran up the side of her neck, the daggers long forgotten, and Sif couldn’t stand this, couldn’t have this, because the tremors she could feel from him as he curled closer to her were shaking her very foundations. It didn’t feel right—it felt like exactly what she wanted. And that terrified her.

 

 

As she descended into the cool, dry air of the dungeon, the illusion molded back around her like a gentle hand running over her face. Her fist was still clenched around the runestone, which pulsed with something between heat and light that set her teeth on edge. Sometimes out of the corner of her eye she would see her hand lit up as if she was holding it up to the sun, her bones turned to dark shadows under the neon-red skin. As soon as she looked it would be gone. Whatever Loki had sent her after, it was powerful.

He stepped up to the edge of his cage as soon as he saw her coming, discarding the book he’d been reading without a thought. “Well?”

Sif held up the stone for him to see, a terse smile on her face. “You were saying about my skills at subtlety?”

“I never should have doubted you,” Loki said. His eyes were fixed on the stone as if there was nothing else in the world. Sif recognized that hunger in his face. She slid it back into her pocket.

“Now,” she said. “Tell me what it does.”

“Oh come now Sif, we’ve been over this,” Loki said. “Won’t it be so much more fun if you get to find out for yourself?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not playing anymore, Loki.” Her fingers grazed the carved wooden coin nestled beside the runestone. A thousand questions rose up to the tip of her tongue, but she refused to let them fly. Not yet.

“You’ll never make it to the other realms if you’re constantly questioning my advice,” Loki said with an ironic smile. He ambled up to the glass, his hands held loosely behind his back, staring down at her with that insufferably knowing smile. “If you don’t trust me—.”

“I don’t,” Sif said bluntly.

Loki didn’t seem perturbed. “Fair enough. Trust my oath if not my character. You know there are some promises that even I wouldn’t break.”

Sif studied his face. He said it as if it were a simple fact that he still had a shred of integrity left. Frigga had said she wasn’t sure whether there was anything of Loki left. Well, Sif certainly saw parts of him thriving: his sarcasm, his egotism, his inferiority complex masquerading as a superiority complex. Fragments. Underneath them all, she didn’t know what she was looking at. Whether he’d been broken, or unmade.

The coin seemed to heat up in her pocket the more she burned to bright it to light, to ask him why he’d kept it all this time. But if he wasn’t the person she’d known, what difference would it make? Was the answer worth that kind of pain?

He was watching her expectantly. “Well? Are you ready to continue? The helpless masses are only a short stroll and some simple chanting away. Heroism awaits.”

“But you won’t tell me what the stone does?” Sif kept her voice casual.

“Still hung up on that? For goodness sakes, Sif, it’s only a power nexus. Something to give you a little boost on the way over, to avoid being ripped limb from limb. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

There was no twitch, no hint on his face that would have indicated him in a lie. Loki had no tell. He never had. Through the span of all the years she had known him, hardly a minute passed in his presence where Sif wasn’t wondering if she was being deceived. In the end, perhaps it didn’t matter whether there was any of the Loki she’d known still left in the man in front of her. In a way, she had never trusted him. And she knew she couldn’t trust him now.

“This isn’t right,” Sif said at last. Her fingers slipped off the wooden carving and slid back down by her side. “No. I won’t do this.”

A crack appeared in the vaguely disinterested façade Loki had been wearing. His smile decreased a fraction of an inch. His eyes were just a degree less inviting. “You’re backing off now? After all of our work?”

“I am not backing off,” Sif said. She stood a little straighter and looked him in the eye. “I am simply removing you from the equation. If I’m to find a way of crossing to the other realms, I will do it without your help.”

Loki’s laugh was heavy laden with bitterness. “How adorably optimistic of you, Sif. There’s no one else to help you but me.”

“You've given me everything I need.”

Loki stared at her in disbelief. “You really believe you can tear through the boundaries between worlds with nothing more than a few lessons in magic and a bauble?”

Sif shrugged. “Perhaps not. But I do believe that I have a better chance without you. And between being torn apart by the cosmic forces of the universe or you burying a knife in my back once again, well. I believe I will choose the first.” She turned before Loki could catch a glimpse of the pain, the hesitation she fought to keep off her face. And it was indeed pain she was feeling. Heimdall had been right. This time, she let herself feel it.

"Oh, you just think you're the hero of this story, don't you?" Loki's voice was like the crack of a whip across her back, enough to make her stop in her tracks. "You only wish to help people to assuage your own conscience. For all your self-righteousness, you're no better than I am." Even without turning she could see his sneer, hundreds of years of the same expression imprinted on her mind. She could feel him lean forward in the prickle of hairs along the back of her neck " _Pathetic._ "

Against all her better judgement, she turned around. Loki's face was inches from the glass, a desperate glint in his eyes. Like a wild animal. How had she not seen it before? She met his eyes. She did not flinch. There was nothing to flinch away from. "For as long as we've known each other you've been using me. A tool. A game. A means to an end. I thought perhaps there had been some piece of you that was different, something worth saving..." she caught herself. "But no. I was wrong. And now it's your turn to be used."

The cruelty on his face faltered, only for a brief moment. The hurt Sif saw there ran as deep as veins of stone in a mountain. She could have dug down into it for millenia and never reached the bottom. She knew that now. And she was tired of digging.

She turned away, sweeping away the final memory of his twisted mouth and angry eyes, the set in his jaw and shoulders, the tightness of his fists clenched by his sides. She new from experience that she would not forget.

“Sif,” Loki shouted as she walked back towards the staircase, his voice tight with anger and desperation. “Sif, don’t be a fool. You’ll be killed.”

She walked on without a word. Whatever happened next, it was up to her. Perhaps she couldn't save everyone. Perhaps there were times when she couldn't save anyone. Now wasn't one of those times. At the very least, she was saving herself.

Eight sets of 36 stairs to go. She counted them on the way up. This time, she didn’t plan on coming back.

 


End file.
